Charlaine Harris (83 page)

To hell with them. I sank down on the bed, stretching out my aching leg. “Please have a seat,” I said. “Do you want a Coke or a 7-Up?”

Tollilver sat by me so the sisters could have the two room chairs. They accepted a drink apiece, and though Katie kept looking at the laptop to see what Tolliver had been up to, they both seemed calmer and less accusatory, which was a relief to me.

“Neither of us had any idea Mariah was pregnant,” Lizzie said. “That's why we're so shocked. And we didn't realize she was dating anyone. She and my grandfather were pretty good friends, and we're imagining that maybe that became something else. Maybe not. We need to know. Aside from the legal and financial considerations, we owe any child who might be a member of the Joyce family . . . We want to meet that kid. Can I smoke?”

“No, sorry,” Tolliver said.

“The baby must be alive somewhere; there must be some record of its birth,” I said. “Even if it was born dead, there should still be hospital records. It's knowing who to ask and where to ask. Maybe you can hire a private investigator, someone who can get through the records easily. I only contact the dead, myself.”

“That's a good idea,” Katie said. “Do you know any?”

“Since you're already here in Garland,” Tolliver said, “there's a woman a little farther into Dallas who's good. Her name's Victoria Flores. She used to be a cop in Texarkana. And I know there's at least one ex-military guy even closer to your ranch; I think he's based in Longview. His name's Ray Phyfe.”

“There are dozens of big agencies in Dallas, too,” I said, as if that would have been hard for them to figure out.

“We don't want a big agency,” Lizzie said. “We just want this to be very, very private.”

That was the response I'd been waiting to hear; I'd been curious about their asking us, of all people, for a recommendation. The Joyce empire, of which RJ Ranch was only a part, surely had employed private detectives in the past. Under normal circumstances, I was sure the Joyces would go to an agency they'd used before, where they'd get the deluxe treatment they were used to.

At the moment, I didn't care what they wanted or how they went about it. I wanted to take a lot of Advil and crawl into the bed.

Lizze was talking to Tolliver about Victoria Flores, and he was giving her Victoria's phone number. That name brought back some memories.

“You really saw that?” Katie asked me directly. “You're not just making this up to jerk us around? No one paid you to play a joke on us?”

“I don't play jokes, in case you missed that about me. I don't take money to make fake pronouncements. Of course I really saw that. It's not a likely thing to make up.”

Lizzie had appropriated our little pad of paper by the telephone and the cheap motel pen to write down Victoria Flores's information.

“She switched locations recently,” Tolliver said. “This is the right number, though.” I looked down, not wanting my face to reveal how surprised I was.

After more reassurance and more repetition of the things we'd already said, the Joyce sisters were out our door and back on the road. I wondered if they'd spend the night in Dallas or try to make it back to their ranch, which would be quite a drive. They'd stay in some place more palatial if they were lingering in the area, I was sure. Probably had a Dallas apartment.

“So,” I said, when the door had closed behind them and Tolliver had reseated himself at the table to finish his computer work, “Victoria Flores.”

I didn't need to say anything else.

“I call her from time to time,” Tolliver said. “Every now and then she hears something new. Every now and then she runs something down. She sends me a bill. I pay her.”

“And you didn't tell me this—because?”

“You get so upset,” he said. “I just couldn't see what purpose it served. When I used to tell you, every time she called, you'd get all upset. Every time, it would come to nothing. She doesn't call much now, maybe twice a year, and I just couldn't do that to you anymore.”

I took a deep breath. My impulse was to launch into him. It was my business how I reacted to possible news of my sister. It was my right to suffer for her.

Then I had a second thought. On the other hand—Tolliver's hand—did it serve any purpose? Hadn't I been okay, not knowing? Hadn't I been calmer and happier, just waiting to locate Cameron in my own way? Was it not okay to have something done for you, some pain spared you, even if it meant you were ignorant about something that you considered your personal business?

Could that idea have gotten more convoluted?

But I knew what I meant, and I knew what Tolliver meant. And I thought maybe he was right. Or at least, it was okay that he had done that.

I nodded finally. He seemed relieved, because his shoulders relaxed and he blew out a breath. He sat on the bed to pull off his socks, then tossed them into our laundry bag, which reminded me that we were low on detergent.

I had ten little thoughts like this while I got ready for bed. I'd been reading through the novels of Charlie Huston and Duane Swierczynski, but it was like getting a jolt of caffeine if I read either one before bedtime; I definitely didn't need that tonight. Instead, I opened a crossword puzzle book. I crawled into bed in my soft sleep pants and my T, and I lay on my stomach, absorbed in the crossword. Tolliver was better at them than I was, and it was hard not to ask him questions.

Another exciting night in the life of corpse-reader Harper Connelly
, I thought. And I was happy that this was so.

WE
were scheduled to take Gracie and Mariella skating that next afternoon, Sunday, but not until two p.m. On Saturday mornings they had to pick up their rooms and do chores before they could go anywhere, and on Sundays they had church and lunch as a family. These were ironclad rules of Iona's. And not bad ones, I thought. I'd run and showered and was about to dress when Tolliver's cell phone rang. He'd been lazy and was still in bed, so I answered it.

“Hey, this must be Harper.”

I recognized the voice. “Yeah, Tolliver's not up yet, Victoria. How's it going?”

Victoria's great-grandparents had been the immigrants. Victoria, born and bred in Texas, didn't have a trace of an accent. “It's good to talk to you,” she said. “Listen, nothing new on your sister, I'm sorry to say. I'm calling about the clients you-all referred to me. The Joyces.”

“They already got in touch?”

“Honey, they already been here in my office and wrote me a check.”

“Oh, good. But I can't take any credit for the referral. Tolliver was the one who told them your name and gave them your phone number.”

“That's what Lizzie said. That woman, she's Texas all the way through, huh? And the sister, Kate? I think she's interested in your brother.”

“He's not my brother,” I said automatically, though I called him that myself about half the time. I took a deep breath. “In fact, we're engaged,” I said.

Tolliver rolled over and fixed me with a sharp eye.

“Oh . . . well, that's just . . . great. Congratulations to the two of you.” Victoria didn't sound thoroughly delighted. Had she been interested in Tolliver herself?

“Let me know the date of the wedding and where you're registered, okay?” Victoria said, more brightly.

“We haven't planned that far ahead,” I said, thrown off balance and scrambling to get my conversational feet back under me. “You need to have a word with Tolliver? He's right here.” Tolliver was shaking his head no, but he took the phone from me with a dour look when Victoria told me she'd like to talk to him.

“Victoria, hey. No, I was awake. Yeah, we're together. We haven't set any dates, though. We'll pick a date soon. No hurry.” And he gave me a significant nod, looking right into my eyes.

Okay, got it, Tolliver. No pressure from you.
Except who'd told Iona we were getting married in the first place? I turned my back on him and bent to rummage in my suitcase for clothes.

After a second, I felt a finger stroking in a very interesting place. I froze. Stealth-attack sex. This was something new. My body decided that I liked this, and didn't pull away and slap Tolliver's hand. The stroking grew more aggressive, more rhythmic. Oh, oh, oh. I wiggled. Then I felt the warmth of him behind me. Though he was still talking to Victoria, he was sounding more than a little distracted.

“Yeah, I'll call you back,” he said. “I've got another call coming in.”

The phone snapped shut. Something more substantial replaced the fingers.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” I said, and reached out to brace my palms against the wall. And then the sharp upward curve of his penis pushed into me, and we rocked together.

Tolliver was all about keeping things fresh.

I hadn't been very experienced when we admitted we were interested in each other. But I was learning a lot from him, and the adventure of it was giving me a whole new light on his nature. I'd thought I'd known him so well that he couldn't surprise me. I'd been wrong.

I gave a sharp cry, a sound I was startled to hear coming from my own throat, and he echoed it a second later.

“Why do you think Victoria called?” I asked, when I could talk. We'd collapsed on the bed after disengaging, and we were wrapped around each other in a very happy way. “It seems a little off base that she'd just call to say thank you. An email or a text would have been more in line.” I kissed his throat.

“She was always fascinated by you,” Tolliver said, and that was completely unexpected.

“Ah . . . that way?”

“No, I don't think she's gay or bi. I think she just finds your ability, and the whole thing with the lightning, really interesting. Maybe even fascinating. Over the past few years, Victoria must have asked me a hundred questions about how you do what you do, what it feels like, what the physical effects are.”

“She's never asked me anything.”

“She told me once that if she asked you questions, you might think she thought you were a freak or had some kind of disability.”

“Like I was in a wheelchair or had a big birthmark on my face? Something I might feel self-conscious about?”

“I think she was showing sensitivity about hurting your feelings or making you feel different. I think Victoria kind of holds you in awe.” Tolliver sounded a little chiding, which maybe I deserved. After all, if Victoria had been trying to spare my feelings, I shouldn't disparage her efforts.

“It just seems strange she wouldn't want to come right to the source.” By which I was hinting that I thought Victoria had wanted reasons to talk to Tolliver, rather than that she was genuinely interested in my little problem.

“Maybe she had both things in mind,” Tolliver said, admitting and giving due credence to my suspicion. “But I don't think she's ever been very interested in me. It was you. I think Victoria has a kind of mystical streak. I think your ability feeds into that.”

“Like seeing the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast, or something?”

“Something.”

“Hah.” I turned that over in my head. “Then she should come to a cemetery with us, if she's so interested. See firsthand. She's been a lot of help to us over the years. I wouldn't mind.”

It was Tolliver's turn to be surprised. “Okay, I'll tell her. I'm sure she'd really get into that.”

He rubbed his chin against the top of my head. I stroked my thumb across one of his flat nipples. He made a little noise of pleasure. I told myself I should get up to shower, since we had to go soon to meet the girls, but I put it off for a few more minutes. We had time. I tried to imagine taking Victoria Flores with us when we went to a cemetery. It would have to be when we didn't have a job set up, when I was visiting to . . . okay, I know this sounds very strange, but if I haven't had a job in a while, I go to a cemetery to keep in shape. With my strange ability.

Having Victoria there would feel funny, but I didn't think her presence would bother me. “So, she has computer skills, I guess, since most private eyes have to these days,” I said.

“We still talking about Victoria? Yeah, I think so,” Tolliver said. “She's mentioned a tech guy who works with her part-time.”

I lay there thinking, while Tolliver got up and showered and dressed.

Victoria Flores had suddenly become a lot more interesting to me.

I wondered if she'd find the missing baby, the baby we weren't even sure existed. Whether or not Mariah Parish had borne a living child shouldn't make a bit of difference to me, but I found myself rooting for the Joyces to track down the baby. I suspected that child might not be their grandfather's offspring. On second thought, if the girls had been so ready to believe Richard Joyce had fathered a child with his caregiver, maybe the baby had been his. But Lizzie and Katie hadn't been looking in the direction I'd been looking when I told them what had killed Mariah Parish. I'd been looking at their brother and Lizzie's boyfriend, and they'd looked mighty damn worried. About what, I didn't know, and I might never find out. But I hoped Victoria would.